


Man-Made

by polluxcastor



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Medical, Medical Experimentation, Medical Procedures, Violence, medical gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14925458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polluxcastor/pseuds/polluxcastor
Summary: Havve Hogan explores his past through his memories. What was he? Who was he?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Body Horror Warning for this chapter.

As soon as the sun rose over the horizon, his internal sensor kicked on, forcing him to wake from sleep mode. It was the daily routine. No matter what time he eventually fell into sleep mode, he was woken as soon as the sun became visible over the horizon. 

He pushed himself up off the sleeping mat, unplugging the cord attached to the back of his head. Fully charged. Good as new. He stepped over to the closet, pulling open the door and pulling out his armor. Carefully, he slid it over his head, securing it around his torso, attaching his shoulder pads, vambraces, belt, crotch guard, and shin guards. He gave his mask a small tug, making sure everything was in place before he exited the room, eager to get started on chores. 

It wasn’t so much that he was eager as it was his job. Everyone else was fast asleep still, except for maybe Phobos who would have just been winding down for bed by this hour. Regardless, he had the house to himself for at least an hour, and he intended to make himself useful. 

Any lingering dishes were done within minutes, being dried and put away. He scooped the litter box for Dangus, making sure it was clean and filled with fresh litter. He took out the garbage and recycling, making sure that all, and he meant all of the glass beer bottles were in the proper receptacle. 

He couldn’t vacuum, not yet anyway. It was still too early. He could dust though. He dusted the bookshelf and TV in the living room, straightening the table and fluffing the pillows. By the time that everything was finished, only thirty minutes had passed. Everyone was still comfortably asleep, and Havve was left alone, now done with everything he had set to accomplish. 

He spent the next few hours trying to find something else to do, ending up sitting on the couch and reading until Sung finally came shuffling out of his bedroom, yawning. Now Havve could make breakfast. 

Almost every single day started like this. He’d come out of sleep mode, clean, tidy, wait for someone to wake up, make breakfast, and then they’d go about their day. Today however was Sunday, and nothing ever interesting happened on Sundays. It was the day everyone slept in, except Havve, and either they’d make an outing to the store, or everyone would stay inside and do their own thing. 

Only Havve didn’t really have anything to do. Not anymore anyway. 

It had been that way for quite some time hadn’t it? Ever since Sung had found him in that cave, heart removed. It seemed that his only real purpose anymore was to keep perfect time, and to clean house. 

One day he had approached Sung and even asked him what was his purpose. Sung didn’t have an answer. Not a real one anyway. It was some half wise answer of “do whatever makes you happy.” When was the last time Havve felt happy? 

It was starting to weigh on him that there was a lot of stuff that he couldn’t quite remember. It wasn’t like it wasn’t stored in his internal processors, but it was so deep, so buried that it was difficult to bring to the surface. He decided that that’s what he’d do today. 

He finished making Sung breakfast and excused himself. He requested that he was not to be bothered as he was going to be making some modifications to his hardware, and that was generally a private affair. Sung protested of course, explaining how it was better if he was there to help aid in the process because what if something went wrong, or something slipped out of place in his processor and caused him to shut down? Havve waved him off, as he usually did, assuring him that if anyone knew his systems well enough it was Havve himself. Sung eventually let go, and let Havve leave to go do whatever it was he was going to do. 

Havve sequestered himself in his bedroom, shutting the door with a click. He knew he’d have a few hours to himself at least, before Meouch would probably bust in and beg for a jam session or for video games. Something. Anything. 

He needed some time to himself. He needed to remember. He needed something to trigger his memories. 

On the back of the door was a full length mirror. He almost never used it. Sung had put it in when they had first moved into the house, insisting he use it to get used to looking at himself. Havve had zoned out of that conversation, he could remember that much at least. 

As easily as he put the armor on, he slowly began to take it off. Vambraces, shoulder pads and chest piece came first, each piece being set down gently on the bed. Next came the belt, shin guards and crotch guard. He hesitated, looking at himself in the mirror. 

He was still in his black suit and helmet. The suit protected his skin, or what was left of it anyway. It was always a hassle to wash. He reached up behind his head, gently pulling on the zipper. The suit opened, and he slowly peeled it off the top portion of his body. He let the suit hang at his waist. 

The top half of his body was a weird amalgamation of flesh and metal. He wasn’t originally supposed to be made out of metal, but that’s how the cookie crumbled, so to say. Over his sternum was a thick metal plate with bolts. Inside, his drum heart, personally installed by Doctor Sung himself. Fused to it was the rest of his skin, stretched out precariously over bones, several silicone patches covering places that had opened up and threatened to bleed out, dozens of patches accumulating over the years. Every single patch of skin was scarred with thick red and white scarring; burns that had never quite healed properly, skin that would never recover. 

He let the suit fall to the ground, pooling around his ankles. His hips and legs faced a fate not so different. He was still marked from head to toe, skin too tight for what bones he had left, if any. Frail looking, but not frail in the slightest. 

He stepped out of the old suit, bundling it and his underclothes into the hamper by the door. He’d do laundry later. He grabbed fresh underclothes from the closet, stepping into them and securing them by his waist. The mask was still firmly attached to his head. He situated himself in front of the mirror again, slowly sliding the helmet off his head, revealing what was left of his face. 

At the time when it happened, he thought he had done such a great job. His eyes had failed him long ago, wasted away with age. Replaced with super advanced sockets with advanced vision that would never fail him. His nose, broken from so many fights, bones flattened, keeping the nose and his single nostril closer to his face, making it easier and less painful to hit. His mouth had been slashed nearly in two, half his lips missing, his mouth forever a crooked gash across his jaw, lip permanently puffed out ever so slightly in a permanent pout. 

The top portion of his skull had been replaced by a super advanced processor centuries ago. Capable of handling the most complex equation known at the time. The turquoise and green casing was so beautiful in the light. Still shiny, even in the dull light of the room. His eyes shone vivid red, the orange lights that lined the processor blinked rapidly with thought. 

What a fucked up creation, he was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains vivid medical gore. Please proceed with caution.

He was disgusted by his appearance. 

The longer he stared at himself the more he scowled, his mouth struggling through scar tissue to fully form into a frown. His face muscles were weak from lack of use. He moved from the mirror, going to the closet once more to retrieve a small kit from the shelf. Inside this kit was a set of oils, something he and Sung had actually collaborated on. It was designed to keep his skin hydrated. Mostly the skin on his face. The rest of his body was falling into a state of disrepair. 

Havve opened one of the bottles, pouring some of the liquid into his hand, slowly smoothing it onto his jaw and neck, rubbing gently at the muscles that lay just under the skin. He was a mess. 

He had been human once. 

He had let science get in the way. He remembered taking his last steps down from the platform, doctoral diploma in his hands. He had done it. All those years of school had paid off. His parents had never been so proud. His little sister had given him the biggest hug that day. He could still remember the warmth of the hug his girlfriend had given him. That day his life had changed for the better. 

He remembered getting a job at a lab. Finally able to put nearly 10 years of college into use. Biomedical Engineering. He was an expert in his field. He still remembered the look on his professor’s face when he handed in his doctoral thesis. 

The professor had doubted him, but Havve knew better. He couldn’t remember the exact title, but he did know it had something to do with creating and using manufactured organs to help aide in the extension of life for the human race. It had been a popular discussion topic. Many other doctoral candidates felt that it wasn’t good enough, and even a few of the other professors fought to get him to change it, but Havve was resistant. As was the advisor. They allowed him to proceed with the topic, confident that he wouldn’t find enough resources to make his case. 

Needless to say, he did. He excelled in that, in fact. 

Even with such a successful thesis, and a fancy job at a lab, he still continued his research in his spare time. Every time he brought up his research, it was dismissed as being too reckless, too dangerous. 

Too...mad.

He had spent nearly five years trying to convince other doctors that this was the way. This was the future. It got so bad that every time he went to schedule another meeting, he was turned away just by name alone. He was getting desperate. He had something to prove. He knew he was right. 

That’s when he became his own science experiment. 

It was late at the lab one night in early May. He had been working on manufacturing and creating an artificial liver. The concept was easy enough. It filtered and processed toxins in all the tests he had run. It worked just like a normal liver outside the human body. It filtered blood and moved just like a real organ. It was synthetic. Better than a human organ. Stronger. 

He didn’t have any willing subjects, nor had he any doctors that could actually perform the surgery. He had two choices. One was to give up and do his job like a normal doctor. 

Havve wasn’t a quitter. 

He had run over the process in his head over and over again. It wasn’t ideal. He knew the risks. He knew he could make one wrong cut and end up bleeding out all over the lab. He’d just be one more experiment to clean up. Everything was arranged neatly. He had mounted a mirror to the ceiling, plenty of light illuminating his workspace. 

The IV was the easiest part. It took him only two tries to stick the vein, securing the straw in place in the back of his hand. He started a nice slow drip of morphine, feeling it trickle into his system. It was enough to dull his nerves, but not enough to knock him out. He needed to think clearly. He was thankful the lab was cleared out for the weekend. He took a few deep breaths before beginning the procedure. 

The pain was excruciating. He remembered the first cut, the way the scalpel dragged across his skin, blood welling up to the surface as he began to work on removing his own liver, replacing it with the synthetic one. His hands had never been steadier. There was something humbling about looking inside yourself, seeing the reflection of your own body parts, the way your lungs moved when you breathed, the way your organs shifted when you shifted. 

It was exhilarating. 

Dissolving sutures inside, sutures and staples on the outside, sealing up and closing the gash in his abdomen. The first of many gashes to come. He covered the open wound in gauze, taking a drink of water from the table, kicking up the morphine dose to kill the still lingering pain. His breath came in heaves, his hands quivering. He didn’t remember passing out in the chair, still hooked up to the machines, only waking when the morphine ran out. 

He used the next two weeks to keep an eye on himself.   
He had blamed the need for sudden surgery due to some medical problem. He kept it vague. His coworkers and employees didn’t need to know. No one needed to know. 

The organ transplant had been a success. He had donated the regular one to the lab for research. He had gone through the obituary that weekend and found a name and wrote it down. No one would bother to check. No one ever did. 

Soon the wound healed, leaving behind a scar. It barely registered against his skin. He was thrilled. It was the happiest he had been in a while. His health was on the rise and he had never felt better. 

The first surgery was always the hardest. Over the next few months he replaced other non essential parts. Gallbladder, a kidney, which was really difficult to get to, spleen, and even his stomach. His stomach had been the hardest to recover from so far. He was getting concerned. Everything had gone so well, but there was still so much more to do. 

Replacing bits of his guts piece by piece was starting to take it out of him. The recovery time was taking away time from his work. His coworkers were starting to get suspicious. He needed the lab. It was his only hope to continue his work. He needed to keep things undercover. 

He waited nearly two years before he installed a new part. A big one too. Lungs. It wasn’t anything that had been attempted. He had it all down in theory. One at a time. Get one out, replace it, do the same to the other. Humans could breathe through one lung, although not well. 

He almost didn’t make it out of that one. Between the blood loss and the lack of oxygen, he almost jeopardized his entire experiment. 

Technology had gotten so advanced in recent years. He was able to heal a brand new open wound with a simple scan of a medical device. It left behind a raw red scar, but the wound was closed tight. This came in handy. No more messy staples. No more thread for sutures. 

There were countless procedures. Soon, everything but his heart was synthetic. His bones had been fortified with metal alloy. They wouldn’t break. Even his blood had changed. He had gained an assistant in his work. A young man who was eager to learn everything from Havve. Havve shared his work with him eagerly. They started their own lab, moving all of his research into the secret lab, keeping it out of the prying eyes of anyone else.

One day his assistant brought him a plausible idea for replacing the human brain. Havve of course was fascinated by the idea. The concept of never forgetting anything ever again. Everything loaded into a hyper advanced machine, a synthetic module capable of the impossible. Havve was on board immediately. 

Planning took years. Blueprint after blueprint had been generated. Nothing seemed to look right. One day, they finally stumbled across just the right thing. Something simple, elegant. It would replace the eyes. It would keep the lower jaw in place, mouth and nose still working as intended.

The procedure was complicated and dangerous. The most dangerous thing that had happened so far. His brain was hooked up to a machine, memories, thoughts, images, motor skills were offloaded like files to a memory chip, each chip had its own place and purpose. As soon as Havve was declared brain dead by his assistant, he began to work on installing the processor. 

It took days. For three days he was unconscious, floating in a nebulous void of nothing. He couldn’t feel. He couldn’t dream. 

He felt a sudden click, feeling life surge back into his body. He awoke with a start, sitting upright. He couldn’t blink. His eyelids were gone. Instead, everything he saw was in intense colors. Everything was so beautiful, so bright. So lively. He remembered smiling.

Havve let out a sigh, looking at his assistant, who looked on in abject horror. What was wrong? 

Havve pulled himself off of the operating table, going towards the mirror. 

He was greeted not with the visage of a man. 

No. 

He was no longer man. 

Havve stared at himself, the processor in his head working too fast for him to handle. 

He was a monster.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains mentions of violence.

“WHAT DID YOU DO???!”

It was all he remembered screaming. The assistant panicked, grabbing the scalpel from the table. Havve felt the knife on his face, but no pain registered. He was stronger than he remembered. He felt his assistant’s wrist snap under his grasp as he wrenched the scalpel from his hand. 

His vision blurred. He didn’t remember how he did it. He just remembered coming to, blood soaking his front and his hands. Disposal was easy. He didn’t feel any pain. He looked at himself in the mirror, lip gashed, nose slashed. Repair was easy. This new processor sent waves across his skin, healing the wound almost instantly with a scar. It did not replace the skin, simply closed the wound. It left him with a nasty red scar across his mouth, one nostril removed. 

His memory had been faulty. He stood in front of the mirror and touched his face. His nose had been flattened by the assistant, extra skin removed so it laid flat aside from his nostril, airway still open for breathing. Bones had been removed to install anchor points for the bottom of his new skull, bones fused with metal, encasing his new brain. He touched the microchips that made up his head, feeling a swell of emotion in his chest. His eyes stared blank, unblinking, staring himself down. They hadn’t faded due to age. They were installed much too small. The emotion in his chest began to grow. 

He couldn’t exist like this. 

He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t get his emotions out. Not the ones he wanted to anyway. He balled his hands into fists, punching the mirror as hard as he could. It shattered with ease. He ripped it off the wall, throwing the mirror across the room, shards of glass flying across the floor. His hands were still bloody. He felt numb. Cold. 

To hell with his research, he thought. He was ruined. Destined to forever look like a monster. Only assistant he had ever had was dead. There wasn’t a way to fix this. 

He began to destroy the lab. It was the only thing he could think to do. Every piece of lab equipment was smashed with reckless abandon. He laughed, a cold, hollow, dry laugh. 10 years of college wasted. Relationships destroyed. Family long gone. He was alone. 

The only downside to modifying yourself to the ends of the earth is that you were now immortal. He was more machine than man, modified blood running through modified veins over modified organs designed so where they couldn’t be destroyed. Indestructible. The ideal human. 

This brain. These eyes. So very not human. 

He tried to everything to destroy himself. Despite everything he had done, his skin healed too fast, any wounds left closed up with red scars almost too soon after. He couldn’t feel the pain either. It was like something hadn’t been connected properly. Something wasn’t programmed right. 

He went as far as pouring acid on his skin, watching it as it burned red lines across his abdomen. He felt nothing. 

Time passed differently to him now. Before he knew it, a hundred years had passed in the blink of an eye. Any time he left the house, he donned a heavy gas mask and black body suit to hide his scarred visage. He had lost the ability to eat years ago. He was a walking husk. Skin hanging over bones. The only times he ventured out was to get parts to fix something on his body or to just see the scenery. 

As intergalactic travel became an option, he was eager to go. To leave earth behind. Nothing was left for him here anyway. He used the last of his savings to buy himself a small ship. He modified it for his uses, finally leaving the planet. Seeing space for the first time shook him. 

He hopped from planet to planet. He didn’t want to be around humans. He wanted a change of pace. Something different. 

He went as far away as his ship would take him. He landed on some junk planet far away from home. This would do. 

Finding work was easy. He fixed ships and tended to small detailed mechanical work during the day. In the evening, he was in the fighting pits, fighting for extra cash. He wasn’t sure how many he had killed in that ring. He was undefeated. 

Despite wanting to be alone most of the time, he met a lot of people. A lot of people were interested in him. Interested in the person behind the mask. He never let them get too close. 

After all, they all wanted to meet the masked assassin, Havve Hogan.

The fighting helped. He wasn’t able to express any other emotion other than anger. He felt anger towards the others in the ring. He felt no remorse as he took them down one by one, adding more blood to his already blood stained jumpsuit. He would scream until he was hoarse, his voice coming out strange and distorted through the gas mask. He would scream until he could scream no more. 

His voice box was the next thing to go. It was something he didn’t replace, and with the age of whatever human parts of him were left, it was corroded and damaged beyond repair. He managed to find a medic to install a vocoder in his neck. It was something. His voice sounded more robotic. He couldn’t control the pitch of it, but it would allow him to speak. He paid the medic handsomely and was on his way. 

He wasn’t sure how he stumbled across the blueprints for a time machine. Maybe it was fate, if he could still believe in that. He began to steal parts from his work, a piece at a time until he had enough. He spent all night putting it together. It fit into his ship like a glove. With the ship fueled up, he left in the night, saying nothing. He didn’t have any real connections here. He had plenty of money stashed away from the fights. It would be fine. 

The ship broke through the atmosphere carrying him into the cold vacuum of space. He kicked on the time travel device. He didn’t know what he was doing. He was desperate. Maybe...just maybe if he went back to see himself when he was in college he could fix all of this. He could keep all of this pain and suffering he went through. 

Maybe if he saw himself….

Just maybe if he saw himself it’d be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything was going to Hell. 

The time machine was incredibly difficult to use. By the time he got back towards earth, and turned it on, he had trouble with setting the time. It wasn’t working properly. 

Havve banged his fist on the console, anger spiking. He was furious. The controls stuck, sending him much too far back in time. It wouldn’t budge. Piece of shit. 

He watched the earth spin backwards, time flying by. He couldn’t stop it. 

He slammed his hand down on the console, machine cracking, sparking as it stopped, time resuming. 

Great. 

Havve landed on the surface. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed. 

There was nothing. No civilization. Nothing you could call civilization anyway. 

He was so angry. 

He had already destroyed his ship. Murder helped even out the anger. Blood on his hands calmed him. 

For a little while at least. 

He was deteriorating at a rapid pace. He could charge himself, but he needed to save as much of his remaining electrical power. He had used the remaining scraps from the ship to repair what he could of himself. He was running out of time. 

The day it happened he could feel it. He had been working on something. He couldn’t remember what. It started as a flutter in his chest. It picked up more and more, until his heart was racing. It hurt. It actually hurt. 

He stumbled back into the cave he had made into his makeshift home, but didn’t make it to the charging station. He collapsed against the wall with a thump, hand clutching his chest. 

Of all things he thought would do him in, he didn’t think it would be a heart attack. 

Logically he knew this wouldn’t actually kill him. Nothing could at this point. But if his heart stopped working, he would cease to function. It was one of the few organs he couldn’t replace. 

When his heart stopped, it took a few minutes for everything to slowly start shutting down. He could feel it. Every system one by one. He lost feeling in his legs and fingers first. Everything felt heavy. He let his head rest back against the wall, eyes dimmed. He put himself in rest mode. It was easier than feeling himself die. 

He went back to that nebulous space. A void. It was empty. Cold, but somehow warm at the same time. It was like floating. He didn’t dream anymore. Hadn’t for years. This was so peaceful. It was the one time he didn’t feel angry. He felt at peace. He had done what he could to keep himself alive, and he had succeeded. He was content to lay like this forever, floating in the endless void.

He felt himself be rudely pulled out of his rest. 

There was someone standing over him, hands inside his chest. His eyes flickered on, hands numbly reaching, grabbing. He wrapped his hands around a neck as his vision came next. He had his hands around someone’s throat, squeezing. Whoever it was didn’t seem to budge. Havve squeezed harder. The man squeezed something inside of Havve that made his arms go numb, dropping back down to his sides. Havve’s systems went back offline again, plunging him back into the void. 

When he awoke next, he was on a ship. He had been strapped down to a table, a man was standing near the table. He tried to turn his head to look at him but couldn’t. 

The man spoke. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” 

He stayed with this man. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do so. Maybe it was gratitude. The man had fixed him. Installed a drum inside his chest, keeping him very much alive. He had even helped create a new suit of armor. It fit close to his skin, making him feel more agile, more mobile. 

As he stared at himself in the mirror on the ship, he looked fearless. His anger had mostly dissipated, leaving him empty. Even as they settled down on their new home planet in a new timeline, he felt empty, locking away memories from the past, his past. He wanted to build new memories. 

At first it was strange, being around other people. Meouch was clingy at times, bugging him for this or that. Sung was attentive, making sure he had everything he could want or need. Phobos was distant. He was always distant. 

Even now, as Havve sat on the floor of his bedroom, bottle of oil in his hand, he felt something. He felt different. People had actually embraced him as a valued member of society. For once in his life he felt as if he was actually important for something. His ideas were listened to. His opinions mattered. It was actually refreshing. 

Sure, Havve still hated his appearance. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it. This is why he spent hours staring at himself, hands smoothing over his skin on his face and neck, trying to preserve some part of him. Had he ever been truly happy? He wasn’t sure. He had found what he was looking for. 

A purpose. 

He slowly dressed himself again, black suit on, covering his skin, then his armor. He hesitated putting his helmet on, but decided it was for the best. He slid it on, adjusting it. He opened the door and went back out into the house. 

He was sure he could find something fun to do today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you thought!!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!!


End file.
